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ELODIE 

Being a Sketch 

of the Life 0/^Elodie Farnum as set forth 

in a Letter by 

JOHN %JJSSELL 




PROVIDENCE 

Privately printed for Elodie's Mother 

by the Livermore £*f Knight Company 

MCMXVII 






Copyright 1917 

By H. Cyrus Farnum 

Providence, R. I. 



APR ! 2 1917 

©CLA460289 



iA LETTER 

TO ALL THE CHILDREN 

BOYS and GIRLS, BIG and LITTLE, RICH and POOR 

WHO ARE ALREADY ENJOYING 

OR MAY EVER ENJOY 

THE 

ELODIE FARNUM 

MEMORIAL LIBRARY 




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Y Dear Children : 

I am an Englishman and a stranger. 
I do not know you and shall probably 
never know you. Yet I want to write 
to you. For although I have never been to Provi- 
dence, never even to any part of your wonderful 
America, I am an old friend of Elodie Farnum, 
and I want to tell you something about her, that 
she may be more than a name to you. 

We first met in 1904 on Christmas day. I had 
been ill and my wife had taken me for rest and 
sunshine to the Oasis of Biskra in the Sahara. 
Thither also had wandered from Paris her painter 
father and her mother in search of sunshine and 
subjects. That Christmas morning my wife and 
I had walked too far and I was tired. There was 
a ramshackle little old tram to take us home, but 
I had carelessly gone out with empty pockets. 
In the distance we spied three figures in European 
dress — a man, a woman, and a little blue bunch 



[5] 



of a child. I approached them, put our case, and 
borrowed our fares. Presently we rode back 
together, and before the end of the journey a new 
friendship had blossomed. We cared nothing for 
each other's names. We exchanged callings, and 
at once became Mr. and Mrs. "Painter" and Mr. 
and Mrs. "Schoolmaster" to each other. And so 
we have remained ever since. I forget when our 
true names were revealed. I think it was about 
the time of Elodie's third birthday, when we sent 
her our good wishes in the following unusual form : 

Collect for the Day 
February 18, 1905 

O Lord God Almighty, maker of all things, 
whom no man knoweth, but whom every man in 
the deep of his heart desireth to know, we who 
have so long yet with so many shortcomings 
enjoyed thy great gift of life, dedicate today to thy 
holy service this little child now growing into 
power, in the hope that she may in due season 
taste the joy of knowledge, learn to winnow evil 
from good, and grow into strength to serve all 
those thy other creatures amongst whom thou hast 
appointed her to walk. We know that this is pos- 
sible for all thy children ; that in the hidden decrees 
of thy infinite wisdom, open to all such as in a full 
trust in thy power diligently search them out, 
there have been established from all eternity laws 

[6] 




Snap-shots of 

Elodie 

in Foreign Lands 




"Her real playground was 
out-of-doors, and her chief playmate 
' Nature, that good old Nurse. 



of unerring guidance, in which all faithful parents, 
teachers, pastors and unsubject souls may find 
even here upon thy earth the sure way of salvation. 
Amen. 

We were near neighbours in the strange little 
settlement, and for nearly three months we were 
in almost daily contact. With Mr. Farnum I 
shared one glorious adventure, and in a serious 
illness which subsequently fell upon him, my wife 
was of the greatest comfort to Mrs. Farnum. 
Elodie, we remember as a golden-haired little 
plump fairy — crawling, toddling, chattering, 
laughing, crooning. Of music we had none, save 
the songs we carried in our heads, and the monot- 
onous warble of an occasional Arab pipe. Yet, 
though we never suspected, the beginnings of 
melody and rhythm must even then have been 
stirring in the little musician mind. Perhaps the 
most radiant remembrance is of her joyous 
absorption in the liquid silver of the sand-dunes. 
To set it rippling over hands and feet was a never- 
failing enchantment to her, and one from which 
she never willingly turned away. If there were 
ever tears, I have forgotten them. Once or twice 
for some special reason I was honoured for a few 
hours with the sole care of her, and I well remember 

[9] 



my anxieties and the compensating bits of humour. 
I cannot pretend that she consciously loved us, 
but I think she always found us quite tolerable 
companions and a pleasant change. As for myself, 
she was just the child-link I needed between my 
busy world of boys and girls at home and my new 
idle world of palm-tree, tent, camel, and illimitable 
desert. In Elodie I saw not one Elodie but a 
thousand Elodies; not one particular child, but the 
universal child — the universal child upon whose 
well-being depends the well-being of the genera- 
tions to be, and to whose well-being I, as a school- 
master, have dedicated my life. 

But our pleasant little quintet too soon reached 
its finale. Mr. " Painter' ' had engagements in 
Algiers and went off to fulfill them, carrying Mrs. 
and Miss "Painter" with him. I remember our 
goodbyes at the railway station — father, mother, 
and the little bunch of new life packed snugly into 
the high wooden carriage — almost as well as if 
they had been spoken yesterday. None of us were 
deeply troubled — Elodie of course least of all — 
because they were so soon to be our guests in 
London. But there was an emptiness in our two 
hearts as we made our way home alone. 

The Summer duly brought them to us in our 

[10] 



own home, and I remember how Elodie, dressed 
for the occasion in our own green school uniform, 
was introduced to my own boys and girls, who had 
heard much of her in letters, and who petted her 
not a little. I remember, too, a long June day in 
a corner of our country chalk-pit at Letchworth 
gay with elder blossom and wild rose, and since 
named " Painter's Hollow." The lush grass made 
a better carpet even than the desert sand and 
Elodie took full joy in it. We should like to think 
that the many beauties of that day added some- 
thing to the store of beauty she must already have 
been unconsciously garnering. 

Then at last America called them home again 
and we have never seen them since. Letters and 
letters, pictures and photographs and books, but 
for ten years no sight, and now, of our little Elodie, 
grown big and loving and creative, no sight any 
more. 

What I am going to tell you then of the growth 
and wonderful blossoming of those ten years can 
only be what others have told me, bejewelled with 
a few little letters and poems of her own. 

[11] 



HE was born in your own Providence 
on February 18, 1902 — first and best 
of the valentines with which she so 
often delighted her mother. It is said 
that before she was three she could sing "in per- 
fect tune" simple airs she had heard sung, and 
that before she was four she sang by heart many 
of the verses in Stevenson's "Child's Garden." 
By the time she was six she had become — without 
suspecting it — quite a traveller, having flitted 
with her parents now to the Bermudas, now to 
London and Paris, now to Algiers and the Sahara. 
Not till she was past seven did she begin to learn 
to read — in the old beautiful way at her mother's 
knee. At about the same time she began the 
violin with a master, practising at first only about 
fifteen minutes a day. She also began the piano 
by ear. Soon after eight she played her violin in 
public for the first time (at Fall River, Massa- 
chusetts) and again shortly afterwards in Provi- 
dence. At this second appearance — before six- 
hundred people — she played, the critics said, 
"with an accuracy of tone and maturity of style 
quite unusual in so young a performer." 

To school in the ordinary sense she never went, 
but between eight and nine, she began taking 

[12] 




On the morning 
after her first recital 



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Facsimile reproduction of a letter 
written by Elodie (full text of this 
letter on page 16) . 



lessons in spelling and arithmetic, essential — in 
moderation — even to genius. But her real play- 
ground was out-of-doors, and her chief playmate, 
"Nature, that good old Nurse." Of fields, flowers, 
woods, sunsets, birds and beasts, she spoke — it 
seemed — the native language, and she loved 
little other company so well. She loved, too, to 
translate their intimate talk with her into picture, 
or song, or fairy make-believe — in which she 
especially delighted. To many grown people, 
indeed, she was herself the very personification of 
fairyhood. She was barely ten when she went 
to her first Symphony Concert and also heard 
Ysaye. There is no record of her emotions, but 
how wonderfully must deep have called unto 
deep ! Soon afterwards she played for the first 
time for the Providence Monday Morning Musical 
Club, which a few days later honoured her with 
membership, and now, only a few years later, 
has honoured her memory in the beautiful way 
you know — by dedicating this Memorial Library 
to her abiding spirit. Throughout 1913, her last 
year of unbroken health, she played much in pub- 
lic, and wrote many little sets of verses, several 
of them illustrated in colour. She also began with 
tutors the formal study of English Literature 

115] 



and French, To this time belongs the following 
characteristic letter: 

August 7, 1913. 
Mine Dearest Friend: 

Mother is sitting here beside me sewing, while I 
am writing to you. The sky is heavy with dark 
clouds today — not much like Tuesday evening 
when Mother and I were outdoors looking at the 
sunset. We saw a great white cloudbird with 
wings spread. I love " cloudbird' ' and I know 
that I shall always associate it with you. I feel 
like romping this afternoon, but I haven't anybody 
to play with. I can't play with Monk all the time. 
Wouldn't it be nice if we were together! Have 
you told Charlie that I am coming in September? 
Don't you think he will be glad to see me? My 
lovely roses are almost as fresh today as they were 
when you brought them to me Tuesday. Mother 
is going to read to me now, then I may sew a little 
for Lady Rosalind. Much love and many kisses. 

From Elodie. 

At Christmas, 1913, she was suddenly and unex- 
pectedly taken ill, and had to give up all work. 
By her twelfth birthday, however, she seemed so 
much better that she returned to her beloved 
violin, and even played — at her own earnest 
request — for the M. M. M. C. But the flame, 
which had perhaps burned too brightly and too 
steadily, was only flickering, and three months 
later (May 15, 1914) it went out. 

[16] 



HAT, so far as I can piece it together, 
is the frame of the little life that I am 
trying to picture to you. But Elodie 
herself, and the wonderful child-soul 
that informed Elodie, are beyond my powers. A 
frank, sweet face in a halo of bright auburn hair; 
eyes alight with spirit and humour; eager, musical 
speech; swift, dainty fairy-like ways; and an easy 
alternation between grave and gay, service and 
mischief — so I seem to see her as I read the 
many letters I have received from her friends. 
And the very soul of honour and generosity and 
consideration, and, in spite of success and popular 
applause, entirely unspoiled, "just the same child 
as before." "The best human being I ever 
met," said a boy of her own age she had been 
kind to. She had indeed won troops of friends — 
of all sorts and ages. 

As a child violinist she had, already made her 
mark, not only in her own personal circle, but 
among musicians of high standing, who unani- 
mously foretold for her a brilliant career. I never 
heard her play, but among my own friends is a 
boy pianist of about her age who has already 
achieved fame, and whose wonderful playing, so 
simple, so sincere, so eloquent, so strangely exper- 

[17] 



ienced, always speaks to my imagination of her. 
"A little child shall lead them," I muse as I listen. 
But music was not her only gift. It is said on 
good authority that with her fine intelligence and 
her power of almost impersonal absorption in work, 
she might have attained to equal success in almost 
any subject of her choice. In drawing, especially, 
she had inherited from her artist father, and must 
have taken many an unconscious lesson when 
watching him at work. Most lovely and pleasant 
in their lives were her mother and she, each at 
times, I am told, leading, each at times gladly 
willing to be led. Mother's valentines were her 
first and last verses. Mother's arms were her 
unfailing refuge from the public platform. And 
now Mother's heart, in spite of a worldful of child- 
redeemers, is empty and desolate. 




9 



[18] 



HILD-REDEEMERS! Do you won- 
der why I say that? Because, in the 
first place, the world, in spite of the 
myriads of noble men and women who 
have lived in it and died for it, is still unredeemed, 
is still for the most part unjust, cruel and revenge- 
ful. And because, in the second place, it is only 
you children who on the wide altar of the world 
can keep the fires of hope eternally burning. 
Have you, I wonder, ever realized that the total 
management of the world, material and moral, is 
steadily passing out of our hands who are old 
into yours who are young, and that in a few swift 
years all whom you now love and trust will have 
passed away — as Elodie too soon has passed — 
and that you boys and girls and your fellows will 
have taken our places, as fathers and mothers, as 
responsible citizens, nay, as trustees of the heritage 
and destinies of humanity? 

In those coming days the world's happiness or 
unhappiness, public or private, will be largely, 
whoever you may be, of your making. Of the 
mighty past, mighty in evil as in good, you are 
inheritors. But to that past you are not in 
bondage. In the immemorial quest of goodness 
you are free, not enslaved. With well-gotten 

119] 



knowledge, with unclouded vision, with indomit- 
able will and impregnable love, you also may bring 
the old world — not indeed to any new world of 
Utopia, but perceptibly farther on the difficult, 
difficult way. For after all are we not all explorers, 
adventurers in life? Each of you — yes, boy or 
girl — was born a spiritual Columbus, And out 
there, somewhere across the great storm-waters of 
desire, lies the land of all our dreams — the Land 
of Promise, the new Jerusalem. Will you not 
equip and brace yourselves — even as Elodie had 
equipped and braced herself — to the perilous 
adventure, and steadily facing discomfort and 
death steer dauntlessly, a deep joy in your hearts, 
to the hidden haven you will never see! In what 
ship? Our English Laureate shall tell you: 

"The Ship of Life" 
"Who builds a ship must first lay down the keel 

Of health, whereto the ribs of mirth are wed; 

And knit, with beams and knees of strength, a bed 
For decks of purity, her floor and ceil; 
Upon her masts, adventure, pride and zeal, 

To fortune's wind the sails of purpose spread; 

And at the prow make figured maidenhead 
O'erride the seas and answer to the wheel. 
And let him deep in memory's hold have stor'd 

Water of Helicon ; and let him fit 
The needle that doth true with Heaven accord; 

[20] 



Then bid her crew, Love, Diligence and Wit, 
With Justice, Courage, Temperance come aboard, 
And at her helm the master, Reason, sit." 

Those are winged words, which, believe me, it 
is well worth your while to try to understand. 
And having understood, will you not — for our 
lost Elodie's dear sake, for your country's dear 
sake, and for your own dear sakes — will you not 
store and treasure them in your hearts, out of 
which, as you know, are "the issues of life?" 
Your unknown shipmate and well-wisher, 
Elodie's Mr. " Schoolmaster.' ' 
(John Russell) 



up 



[211 



A Few Verses by Elodie 



«« Of Fields, Flowers, Birds and Beasts 

she spoke and she loved little 

other Company so well.*' 



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• SPRING • 



The birds are singing merrily, 
The brooks begin to flow, 

All nature now awakens, 

For Spring has come, you know 

The little buds are bursting, 
The trees are leaving fast, 

All nature is so happy 

That the dreary winter's past. 

So very young and tender, 

So frail is everything, 
I think of all the seasons 
The loveliest is Spring. 



July, ipij 



[24] 



THE ROBINS 



A robin lives in the willow tree 

Down by the river so gay. 
And she sits in her nest of moss and hair 

And sings to herself all day. 

Four little eggs in that nest of hair 
Four little robins will soon be there. 
Four little mantels of gray and brown, 
Four little nests as soft as down. 

Each little robin its wings must try, 
For soon 'twill be time they learned to fly. 
Each little bird has its nest to make, 
One made his by a lovely lake. 

Another his home in an apple tree, 
And now is as happy as happy can be. 
One built his nest in a shady nook, 
And by it runs a rippling brook. 

And last of all this robin made 
His little home in a mossy glade. 

And oh, how I wish you were there to see 
The robins that lived in the willow tree. 



To Mother 

Christmas , 1912 

[25] 



VALENTINE 



This very small message 
At first must seem queer, 

For you think: not much love 
Can be written in here. 

But if you will look 

On the fourth line below, 

You'll find something to please you 
Sincerely, I know. 

There is one who doth love thee 
With all her small heart. 

There is one who would ne'er 
From thy side ever part. 

For she loves her dear Valentine 

More'n any other — 
HI tell you who 'tis, 

This Valentine's — Mother! 



To Mother 

February 14, 1914 



[26] 




A Cut-out Valentine made by Elodie. 
The reproduction of the verse is exact 
size. This tiny sheet was folded and 
enclosed in envelope held in dove'* s bill. 



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i k<&.ri .-&. III Ik . v<?(c««. caJI ovt 
i ko m tfi * tfi i c K*et ^ e^s 1 p &»s s < 4 . 

IT £■* < tn ■€ a To Hi * SO C Jl *€ < Y V 

I ItdsT oili-er linnets so sm 

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from olJvKy brxa^t a-nJ tiny tliro&Jt 
L &.?*?< ''.ncft«es- so sw*ttT a^-nd low. 
It ■ s<-<iti*d to mytH t«< tin th*^ 
.Tas it Tn/turta tb a-tto iFo. 

rvifci btsT of aJI h* joi^ti-eys not" 
lo aw waa"m«r cmitk Thvn outs, 
"Q:vt%tawYs witli v* tri** winter tnro*r*i. 

/ 6 



■^■■■■■■■Mi 



Facsimile reproduction of "The Chickadee" 
Verses, decoration and lettering by Elodie 



• THE CHICKADEE 



One day, as I was strolling, 

When the leaves were falling fast, 

I heard a little voice call out 
From the thicket, as I passed. 

It seemed to me so cheery, 
Midst other things so sad, 

That I stopped and listened happily 
To that little voice so glad. 

From silv'ry breast and tiny throat 
Came notes so sweet and low, 

It seemed to invite me thither, 
As it fluttered to and fro. 

And best of all he journeys not 
To a warmer clime than ours, 

But stays with us the winter through, 
Till Spring shall bring her flowers. 



To Mother 

December 25 , JpiJ 



[29] 



THE FIELD DAISY 



Oh! dearest little daisy 

Nodding in the sun, 
Always bright and happy, 

Cheering every one. 

Your dainty snow-white petals 
And loving heart of gold 

Gladden all the passers, 
Whether young or old. 

There are many lovely flowers, 
Of different sort and hue, 

But I know not of a merrier, 
More friendly one than you. 



To Mother 

May, ipij 



[30] 



• THE BIRDS ■ 



Hear the bird's sweet voices ringing 
Thro' the forest cool and fair. 

As they fly about us singing 
In the soft midsummer air. 

Their little hearts are bursting 
Forth with love and song; 

They try to make us happy 
And help the days along. 

At morning when we waken 

They sing with cheer and mirth. 

What happier little creatures 

Could one find on all this earth! 



To Daddy 

March J, 1913 



[31] 



KEEKAMOOCHAUG FARM 



Oh, how I love this quiet farm! 

'Tis so peaceful in all its simple charm. 
My eyes upon the view can feast, 
Whether looking North, South, West or East, 

I love the little kittens, 

The dear old doggie, too, 
I love the little Tom Thumb room, 

I love them all, don't you? 

But what I really love the best 

Are my friends so very dear, 
Who asked me to this lovely spot. 

I'm so happy to be here. 



Written for the 'visitors' book 
Dudley y Mass. 

July 2-i2 y 1913 



[32] 



